pariahdog

I’ve been to India six times, sometimes for months on end, but I’ve always managed to avoid monsoon. On my first trip to Kolkata I caught the very beginning, and saw how the city celebrated the coming of the rains, how children ran out in the streets, how the temperature immediately dropped. My last trip started in September, and I got the lingering effects of monsoon season, a few strong and unexpected showers. I knew when I came this time that I would be in for the full force of monsoon, and I knew that I wanted to find out what the dogs did during the annual floods, and how my characters reacted to the rains. I knew I’d be wading in water no matter what, and I hoped that some knee-high boots would be enough to keep me dry. I was fooling myself. The first flooding happened last week, and I grabbed my camera and made the best of it. I waded through the water in my pull-over boots, shooting people walking through the water near the house where I stay, the dogs nervously crossing flooded streets. Cars would pass by, creating waves, and everyone on the street would yell at them. Even though it was only eighteen inches deep, the water was brown and impenetrable. There was always the risk of stepping off a curb, or into an unseen hole, and submerging my camera, which would essentially end my ability to shoot the film. I caught one dog wandering into an open manhole cover and sinking up to his neck in the dirty water before he was able to scramble to safety.

Later in the week, monsoon caught me unawares. I started the morning getting sick, but had an appointment with Bernadette, one of our main characters. Bernadette lives an hour south of the city, and doesn’t have access to a phone. We were meeting to bring her a cellphone we’d arranged for her, so we would be able to stay in closer contact, and there was no backing out. We took the camera with us, with the intention of taking a few shots of Bernadette in the city, but I thought I would be too sick to really do much. After a quick lunch, we were getting some music put on the sim card for Bernadette at a local shop when the downpour started. Out came the camera, and I managed to shoot a nice little scene of her taking shelter from the rain under an awning, as boys played in the street, splashing through the water with guns made of styrofoam. Dogs came wading by. A young man wearing only a pair of shorts road a horse bareback through the water. Within thirty minutes, the steps where we were standing were an island. Taxi’s refused to stop. I suddenly realized I’d have to wade through the water to leave, in brand new shoes.

Everyone in Kolkata buys a cheap pair of shoes for monsoon season, usually sandals that don’t get waterlogged. I’ve had various foot problems my whole life, and don’t particularly want to wear open-toed shoes in Kolkata, especially in water when I can’t see where I am stepping. So my choice was to wait for hours for the water to recede, or say goodbye to my $100 pair of Brooks. In the end, the boots wouldn’t have helped. The water was higher than my knee at points.

Monsoon is high season for the rickshaw pullers, who charge triple fares to take people through flooded areas. Of all the modes of transportation available in Kolkata, the rickshaw is the only one I have managed to avoid. I am not a small guy, and I just can’t stomach the idea of asking someone to do my walking for me. We made it to a main road, but the taxis weren’t stopping for anyone, no matter how much people yelled or tried to argue. They had no interest in letting wet people inside, and didn’t want to drive through the floods. Most were looking for a dry place to park. It’s a delicate thing to talk about, but after a little while in the water, I got the idea that the sewers were backing up into the streets, I’m pretty insensitive to smells, but this was not good at all. Today I checked out the shoes to see what condition they are in. I think they are a total loss.

Eventually we found a bus to Bhowanipore, where I stay. By the time we got off, it was packed dangerously tight, and there was quite a bit of pushing and yelling going on as we fought our way to the door. As soon as we made it off, my mood brightened.

“I’m becoming a real Kolkatan,” I told my friend. “Wading through the streets, fighting my way off of the buses.” We started to laugh, and I reached for my phone to check the pictures I had snapped of the flood, but it was gone. Sometime in the last fifteen seconds of the bus ride, I’d been taken. I can’t decide if that makes me more of a Kolkatan, or less of one.